2 a.m.

It is 2 a.m. Thursday morning. I wake, stretching my arms protectively, lovingly around…no, not a human significant other…but around what is akin to a black hat box on my bed. Inside is tiny precious cargo, a newborn kitten alone in the world. I roll back to find myself up against seventy-five pound Clayton, one of our family dogs. He is snoring gently, his jowly lips fluttering against his breathing. It is a peaceful time where night is deep. His steady presence is almost enough to pull me back to slumber, but in kitten season, such gifts as long nights of sleep become far-off wavering mirages, much the same as mothers with newborn babies experience.

Raymond is, we say, about two days old. His little umbilical cord is still attached. His eyes are sealed shut, and he has all the frail bearing of a newborn kitten. He is a wee orange tabby. Mother was hit by a car and died. Two siblings died before he and his sister were brought to the rescue yesterday. Then sister died. They weren’t in knowledgeable hands; they were cold and being fed human formula. Blessedly, the person who found them did reach out for help, and because of rescue camaraderie, we were able to coordinate to bring the pair into our care. Kaleb of Catman2 Shelter tried to get them off to a new, fresh start, warming them, doting upon them, along with his amazing volunteers, but it was too late for the one, and heartbreakingly so. However, Raymond, a little to our surprise, is rallying thus far.

Late last night we brought him home in his hat box. He was nestled in a soft receiving blanket on top of a Snuggle Safe disk…a microwaveable heated pad in a soft fleece cover. We warmed up his kitten formula and fixed the nipple on his bottle so he could drink easily. The combination of warmth and the right food seemed to make a difference, and he ate well, then settled into a peaceful little ball. We can only hope that intervention has come soon enough, and that he is hardy enough, that Raymond will make it through the next twenty-four hours. We have to worry about those first twenty-four before even considering what might be his future.

Raymond is part of Jackson County’s Smitten With Kittens initiative. Last year I found myself working persistently to assist our animal shelter with its heavy kitten season, because the thought of all the animals being euthanized, and the toll that must take on a human being working in that environment, made me ache inside. But a lot has happened in a year, and because of community support and rescue friendships, we have an opportunity to prevent so many unwanted litters and save lots of kittens who have already been born. It was often the case that pregnant cats and litters of unweaned kittens could be euthanized at the animal shelter, because their needs are very high, and we have an abundance of amazingly adoptable young adult cats that sit in the shelter day in, day out, waiting for homes. But we’re working together – Catman2, Jackson County Animal Shelter, ARF Jackson Humane, and my son and I of The Underground Tailroad, in order to help ALL the cats which make up this equation.

We want people to adopt adult cats, as well as kittens. We want to eliminate needless euthanasia. We want to increase awareness of just what it takes to raise a kitten, the toll it takes on those of us who pick up the burden our community drops at our door because spay/neuter is not the norm. Sleepless nights. No languid summer vacations. Watching kittens die because of their fragility, their circumstances. Making the decision to spay a pregnant cat because there are hundreds of kittens born in just our one county during a year’s kitten season, which starts in spring and lasts through early autumn. Personally, I also want the community to see that we are in this together. Rescue groups and animal control are not magical entities. They are made up of human beings who work tirelessly to make a difference. We have varying motivations, but we come together for a common good.

It is time for me to feed Raymond now. I heard him squawk from within his blankets. Perhaps after he has eaten, I will be able to enjoy a cup of coffee while putting my own work day in order. Every two hours he will need to be fed. I have a job. I have a son. I have pets of my own and bills to be paid. I have friends who I’d like to see. All of that is still there. So fix your pets. And if your pets are fixed, and you have the means, help someone else fix theirs, and support those of us who are trying to grow a better community one life at a time.

Love from the Tailroad,

Chandra

Smitten With Kittens 2013

Fixing our Communities

It didn't begin so well, the day, that is. Maddie, a foster dog, decided that her last day with us before heading to New Jersey would be best begun by trying to eat my cell phone...again. Last week it was the battery cover. This time it was the transmitter, you know, the part you speak into. I could hear people just fine: "Hi, Chandra. Chandra. Hulloooo. Are you there? Chaaaaandra?" Click. If ever there were an opportunity to say whatever you wanted to me without me talking back, it was the time. Eli, my son, also had a day off from school in the middle of the week, and I had a job to get to, and it was transport day. Transport day...foster dogs Maddie, Taco Paco, and Cupcake, all from the Jackson County Animal Shelter, were slated to leave western North Carolina for New Jersey, pending successful health checks. Another thing to work into the day. A typical day as an animal advocate, though.

Then there was the voicemail from an animal control associate, asking me to call him. Would have been nice to call him, but, again, the cell phone. So the text messaging began. Can I help a mama cat with kittens...four day old kittens...slated to come to the county shelter? Oh, no, not already. Kitten season. I'm not ready. The onslaught of babies with nowhere to go, the mamas forgotten, the euthanasia or the battle to evade that dire fate. Timing was such that I thought I might be able to help this particular family of kitties, but it would take some doing, one more thing to work into the day. But then Rescue Magic happened, again!

The text message came. A rescue friend asked me if I knew of any eight week old kittens to add to our transport that night. Well, eight weeks old versus four days old, not a big difference, right?! I had to ask. The flurry of text messages between the animal control officer, my rescue friend, and myself eventually led to my speaking with the shelter director at our recipient group in New Jersey from my office phone, when I rolled in to work.

"Can you take a mama kitty with four day old kittens? I'm not sure how many."

There was a brief discussion in the background. "Yes," was the reply.

I also knew of eight week old-'ish' kittens in Haywood County's animal shelter. We spoke briefly about these kittens, and before I knew it, the gal had a plan in place to attach those to another transport heading out the next day. Timing is everything.

Great news, right?!

Another text message came. Something about mama cat has a pregnant sister already at the shelter - a ready-to-pop pregger sister. It's hard to think that one might go because she has kittens, and another might miss her chance, but that IS a reality in our work. The window for sending cats and kittens up north is usually very narrow. We luck out when they ask for a litter, and it usually comes in the early part of the year because our kitten season heats up sooner than the northern climates, in general...at least the most intense onslaught of kitten season. Once kitten season heats up for real up north, though, then the window slams shut. Would this pregnant kitty have a shot at a future in New Jersey. Another phone call was made.

"Mama cat has a pregnant sister who is ready to pop. Can you take her? I'm so sorry to be asking! You've been so generous already!" That's basically how it went. Another brief discussion in the background.

"Yes."

Why? Because, again, even when these yet-to-be born kittens are eight weeks old, their kitten season will just be beginning. We made the cut.

Wow. I couldn't believe what happened. Miracle. And now off to health checks for the dogs. Never a dull moment.

Would we be able to get health checks for these kitties on the day of transport? Yes. The veterinarian was willing to squeeze them into the day's busy schedule...a day of in-and-out rescue weigh-ins, heartworm tests, and transport physicals, interspersed among their regular clientele.

The next question was whether or not we would actually be able to get the cats to the vet. The mama cat and kittens were still underneath a sink in an apartment. The pregnant cat was at the shelter. The animal control officer had a very busy day of tasks and appointments. I was in the middle of getting my dogs ready for transport and taking care of work duties while enduring my son's boredom with the whole thing. I'd have made it work...I'd do anything to help those cats. But I didn't have to.

The animal control officer volunteered to get them to the appointment. He'd bring them himself.

This is the kind of stuff I live for. When we can come together to make a difference, when we can bend with the breeze, we can accomplish almost ANYTHING. We can definitely create better, more dynamic communities, communities full of caring and innovation and change. We have to remember to appreciate these moments every single time, because they MAKE us better than we are. As an animal advocate living in these mountains where poverty is rife and animals are considered property, trying to improve the system can be frustrating, to say the least. The problems are so many that it can be difficult to decide where to start. I'm also the type of person who tends to see the forest and the trees, which I like about myself, but it can be overwhelming at times when needs are intense and immediate and assistance can be scattered and spotty, lacking coordination.

But I believe we are tending to the trees with the goal of creating a healthy, balanced forest. We strive to rescue as many animals in need in the now, assisting their families or the folks who find them. We strive to support our animal control officers so they can have a meaningful career where the day-to-day does not include a constant string of killing (call it euthanasia - or gassing in some regions - it is still killing). We strive to help people spay and neuter animals in need...their own pets, found strays who will end up staying put, or pets tended to in a community. The last one is the long-term solution. Fixing our dogs and cats will be the ONLY thing that ends the killing of millions of shelter pets every year.

Just look at those cats. Mama cat with what turned out to be five four-day-old kittens, and her sister ready to have even more, and the male cats who were turned out with them. We HAVE to fix them. If we don't, they multiply before our eyes, and there aren't enough places for them to go. We can't stem the tide without spay/neuter. Every puppy and kitten born deserves to be cherished and cared for instead of dead because we screwed up. We've screwed up royally, and we are making animals pay the price. We are duty-bound as stewards on this planet to do better. We also have to look beyond our own and reach out to our brethren, our communities, and ask, "Where can I help? Can I volunteer? Can I donate? Do you know someone who needs help?" That is our duty.

My friend, this animal control officer who was so willing to go the extra mile...my friend has done more to help these animals in need than many a member of the surrounding community...members who blame or are utterly apathetic, irrational, or irate. I also know, though, that there are lots of members of our communities who are open and willing and simply want to know what to do.

Here's what to do:

Support your local shelter - county or private.

Speak up about what your community needs.

Speak up for those whose voices go unheard.

Recognize your role as a leader, as a steward - we all are leaders and stewards in our own way.

Fix your pets...help the animals in your community get fixed.

Remember that you might think you know how someone else feels or lives their life...but you really don't...we each have our own journey.

Be a friend to those on their own journeys - strive to make things better, not worse.

Be kind. Be Compassionate.

Keep the forest in view...it is beautiful...and nurture those trees.

Love from the Tailroad,

Chandra

P.S. The kitties, when I saw them, were beautiful!!! Wee kittens, umbilical cords still attached, were snuggled up to a doting mother in a comfortable crate. Pregnant mum was settled into her cushy crate as well, and they began their journey north. The older kittens should be leaving tonight, February 21st. Life is beautiful. Living things are divine. Twenty-one dogs, two adult cats, five kittens, and a litter on the cusp of birth had their ride to freedom and families. Let's wish them many happy beginnings in New England, and may we revel in the Rescue Magic whenever it comes upon us.

And, Josh, Thank You.

Surrender or...

It was a difficult day yesterday. It started off well enough...one of my favorite volunteers showed up at the Haywood Spay/Neuter office to lend a hand, and a board member brought us lunch from a local Waynesville soup fundraiser...but then it took a turn. On January 2nd we had sent out our first spay/neuter trip to Asheville Humane Alliance, who handles the bulk of the dog and cat fixes from Haywood County. On that trip we had sent out a lovely pup, not quite a year old. Layla was a little Blue Heeler...maybe a mix...lovely, sweet, quiet, demure. The next day when she came home I snapped a picture of her, freshly spayed, posing with her caretaker. It was one of my favorite photos from the day...one of the first pictures I took as the new Executive Director with the organization. Yesterday during lunch her caretaker came in to tell me Layla had been shot and ultimately died from her injuries late last week. Probably by a neighbor. Probably for the heck of it or out of some sort of feudish spite. I live in a state where most of the time these innocent voices are lost. Law enforcement lets them slide. No charges. Hence no prosecution. Life goes on. And a little girl loses her dog. And we lose integrity as a community.

I wish we would get with the program, folks, and start being proactive, standing up against animal abuse. First, animal abuse in and of itself is WRONG. It's our job to care for one another and care for living things to the best of our ability whether they are pets in our home or a deer we are hunting in the woods. It is our job to show integrity in our care for the life on the planet. Beyond that, I always come back to the famous quote by Mahatma Gandhi: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." If we abuse animals, we are abusing ourselves. Violence against animals often begets violence against humans. If someone shoots a neighbor's dog, stabs a dog, burns a cat...what is going on in his or her head? What is happening in that person's life and the people IN that person's life? Are the children in the home safe? Is the spouse safe? Are we safe? We so often act like violence in our world is status quo or shockingly surprising: "How could that happen???" It happens because we let it go. We ignore the clues. We ignore each other. We ignore empathy and consequence.

But one thing  we're really good at is blaming the animals.

"The dog wasn't on its own property."

"Pit bulls are vicious."

"The cat is my neighbor's and was pooping in my yard."

We trample our planet with our arrogance. We blame whilst we are to blame. If the planet could talk to us...if the planet had its own cable channel where it could show us who we are...what would it say to us, show to us? Pollution, deforestation, war, rape, roads, pipelines, species dying away with the tick of the clock, persecution and prejudice...We act like we're so great. We're really just so very small. It's our egos and apathy that are great.

Where did my day go from there...from that point of despair and disappointment in my community? I found myself answering the phone knowing I only had sad news to say. I'd been at my local animal control in the late afternoon, and the cat room was full. One of the kitties was a beautiful little white gal - one blue eye, one green eye. Winter was 14 years old and precious. She'd had tons of dental work and had a toothless grin. She came up to my son behind her cage bars and said hello. The problem was twofold. The shelter was overfilled with cats, and she was an owner surrender, given up because her owner lost a job and felt he couldn't provide for her. I get that. The economy is tough. Losing a job can be a major blow to one's confidence and sense of well-being. We in rescue don't have the 100% outreach we'd like so that people like this feel they have somewhere to turn...a place for advice, a provision of services. So he took her to the shelter, this little cat he'd had since she was just a wee young kitten.

Trust me, we tried to help. I was hoping when I called him from the shelter that he would answer. I was hoping he'd reply to my text message. He did, but it was too late. It's a sad thing when you have to tell someone their cherished pet was euthanized the same day it was brought to the shelter. It's a sad thing to know that time can make such a difference. We would have tried to get his kitty back to him. We would have tried to get him food and litter so they could stay together. There are no guarantees that he would have taken us up on it, but we would have tried. So she wouldn't have to die. Instead, I had to tell him it was too late. He summed it up as the word, "Wow," escaped his lips after a pause while I stood in my kitchen and told him the news. I don't think he knew the reality his cat faced. I don't think a lot of people understand the reality of what animal control is. I think a lot of people think they can take an animal there, and it will find a home. Millions of animals never find that home. Owner surrenders can be at the top of a list for euthanasia because they don't have to be held as strays. Older animals can be the first to be put down.

And in these cases I also feel for the animal control officers (ACO) who are making the decisions of who should live and who should die. Often maligned, our animal control officers really have a difficult job. I know the officers didn't want to euthanize Winter. When an ACO comes up to me and asks if I'm going to basically hate them forever if they do their job, it breaks my heart. And I was asked that late yesterday afternoon as it came time for such decisions to be made. What am I supposed to say? Should I recommend that they kill the three kittens instead, or the eight month old tabby cat who likes to be heard above all the others, all of which could live another 18 to 25 years and are considered "more adoptable?" What I can say is, "It's not your fault." And it isn't. It's our fault. We need to be spaying and neutering our animals. We need to be reaching out for help. We need to practice fair stewardship. We as a nation abuse animals through our neglect of the shelter system, lumping blame on each other or upon animal control officers. We need to be placing attention on ourselves. We need to help each other, provide services, be kind, and fix the problem we created. That's integrity.

If we want to be a great nation, then we need to act like one.

Love from the Tailroad,
Chandra

Zeke, Rescue Magic, And Steps Toward Being A Humane Nation

“Oh, geez. Not another one.” That pretty much sums up my response when I received a phone call from a local rescue group about a puppy in need of rehoming. My response wasn’t really linked to the rehoming part of this case. It came from that gut reaction that makes me want to hurl when I hear a puppy was bought from a local pet store.

See, when I moved to western North Carolina in 2009, I really was out of touch with the reality here. In all the other places I’d lived, the puppy-selling pet store quietly seemed to disappear, replaced by high-end boutiques marketing holistic pet food and Lupine® collars, and box stores like PetSmart and Petco, where one could peruse a plethora of pet products while also seeking an animal to adopt through local partnerships with rescue groups. I didn’t know that selling puppies in a pet store was still considered an acceptable practice in this part of the United States. The rose-colored glasses quickly fell off.

One of my first foster dogs when I came here, Miss Paisley, was a wee terrier mix purchased from this same local store. She was ravaged by mange, and her family surrendered her to PAWS in Bryson City. It took almost a year for her to beat it, poor thing. When she first came to my home, she was virtually hairless and covered with red oozing sores. Yet, she had an indomitable spirit, and through a lot of team work and veterinary care, we got her healthy and into a Furever Family.

Sadly, Paisley wasn’t the last sickly pet store puppy I encountered. As a veterinary technician, it was heartbreaking to see young college kids walking in the door with a recently purchased puppy limp in arms, vomiting, wasting away from diarrhea because of parvo. These college kids don’t know what they’re doing, most of the time. Often they don’t have the life experience or background in animal advocacy to react like those of us in the field do when we see the sign on a store stating, “Pit bulls for sale.” They see a cute puppy and a cuddly companion for those all-night study sessions, a friend during a time when life can seem tumultuous, the next step in a romantic relationship…the list goes on. Sometimes they see the saddest looking creature and think they can help it, only to find themselves overwhelmed by the puppy’s needs…and they often don’t have the money to take on the needs of a parvo case, for example, which can require lots of medicine, intravenous fluids, and intensive care. That’s the reality.

So, the phone call came, and with it came an exasperated sigh and a roll of the eyes. The rescue group was dealing with it, and I’d really only heard about it as part of a conversation. I didn’t have any responsibility in this equation at the time. But then I received another phone call. It was the puppy’s owner. In my conversation with her we had the beginnings of that curious, wonderful phenomenon called Rescue Magic.

Zeke was no ordinary puppy. He might have been ordinary in the sense of being a pet store puppy, and he might have been ordinary in having issues which we often see in such puppies. But Zeke was extraordinary because he had an extraordinary family. We’re not exactly sure what kind of dog he is. What we do know is that he is not the breeds the family was told he was while they shopped at the store…there was something about border collie and/or lab in there, I believe, and the result as he was growing seemed to be leaning more to the Rottweiler department. Zeke didn’t have a medical issue, but he did have some behavioral quirks…jumpy, nippy…more than the normal puppy behavior stuff. And he was living in a family with three children six years old and younger. It was a horrible mismatch, and I think it came with a lot of guilt for his family. This was a family who didn’t want to fail their dog and who didn’t want to be judged as awful people for trying to rehome him, and they didn’t need to be judged and chastised for buying him from a store. They simply didn’t know any better. Zeke’s family has a heart of gold.

They took him to see a certified dog trainer, and she quickly agreed this fella needed a different environment, and the family needed a different dog. The trainer also remarked that this was the third pet store puppy in about as many weeks that she had evaluated for behavioral issues. I was so proud of Zeke’s family for taking the time and effort to take him to the trainer in the first place. It showed their mettle, and I knew we were dealing with a very special, magical family. In talking with his Mama, we quickly made a plan. Anything I asked, she did. I needed better photographs; she went that very day and shot beautiful pictures of the happy-go-lucky four-month-old pup. I talked to her about utilizing the local dog park, so the kids could run off steam in the nearby playground, and he could run off steam in his own zone, and she did it. I asked her to take him down to the local rescue group’s adoption event so the trainer could do a full temperament evaluation on him, and they were there. He needed to be neutered and up-to-date with vaccines, and, yep, you got it…she took charge, and he was fixed before we knew it! And she taught him to play the piano. That’s right. His Mama used positive reinforcement and taught Zeke to play on a kiddie piano. She even videotaped it. Magic!

What Zeke’s human mother did was take the steps to get him into a new, better home. She was proactive, kids and all. We talked about cross-posting him on Facebook, and she became his spokesperson. We talked about the transport option to homes in New England. She was game. The local rescue group was also willing to host them at their Saturday adoption events, and she was there. And you know what happened? Last Saturday Zeke found a new home.

Rescue Magic takes a lot of sacrifice sometimes. It often involves a combination of linking rescues together, and it is at its best when an owner embodies the Magic themselves. It requires being proactive, nonjudgmental, and diligent…and sometimes very patient. Zeke found a happy new beginning very quickly because of this.

Zeke’s Mama has asked me, quite basically, if it’s a horrible thing for them to want to rehome this puppy yet still look for another dog. Now, take a second. Strip away the gut reaction, you animal advocates, you, who may  (just sayin’) latch onto, “They bought a dog from a Pet STORE!” Or, “They want to get rid of the dog they have, and they want to get another one?” Take a second. Let’s get humane here. I like to think that I live in an animal welfare generation that can see the whole picture, that can see the animals AND the people in their lives. I believe if anyone deserves a dog, this family does. They are kind, loving, and supportive. 

They did more for Zeke than a lot of folks would. Zeke was not the right dog for this family, and now they know about pet stores, and they know about the temperament they are looking for in a dog. They know that not all dogs are prone to nipping kids. And they know that although they can take the time to teach a puppy to play the piano, that doesn’t mean that puppy is right for them. Someone else might truly have the time to not just teach Zeke piano…they might be able to teach him to play fly ball, too, or take him biking for hours on the trails. That’s the kind of home he needs. And they may see that a puppy might not even be what they are looking for. In fact, last time I checked they were talking about adopting an older, more settled, calmer dog from a shelter. I know they are equipped now to make the right decision for their family, and that whatever dog they end up bringing home, that dog has got it made. I can’t say that for the millions of dogs euthanized every year, many of them simply surrendered. Surrendering Zeke to the shelter is something a lot of other people would have done. I’m very, VERY proud of this family for working with the animal welfare system to keep him out of a shelter and get him into a family where he can hopefully live a long and very happy life.

As for the pet store, yep, it’s still here. They are all over North Carolina, in fact. This particular one advertises all over its walls that it doesn’t get its puppies from puppy mills. Personally, I’d like to see the paperwork so we can see where the puppies come from. I also know they do a lot of ‘puppy consignment,’ and they probably see themselves as, um, helping keep animals out of the shelter? Yes, I mean “?????”. I’ve been in there and have seen puppies on display who are really far too young for adoption, let alone for sale. I’ve seen a kennel crazed mini sheltie running in desperate circles. And I think to myself, when they close shop on Sunday, do they take all those puppies home and love on them, socialize them? Don’t think so.

We had over ten…10…puppy mill busts in North Carolina last year. Hundreds of dogs were taken in by shelters and rescue groups. One of those busts was for Great Danes. Puppy mills deal in dogs of all breeds. Many of them are AKC registered, but the AKC has such poor inspection oversight that these facilities get away with inhumane, appalling conditions for years. These puppies end up being sold to pet stores or via the internet. When a breeder closes shop, it’s often the case that the remaining animals get dumped at animal control. It’s a horrible system. We have too many dogs and cats in this country, as it is. I support small hobby breeders, don’t get me wrong. There are people who work to improve breeds and who ensure the animals they are putting out in the world are loving, attentive, stable, and healthy, and that they are ending up in Furever Families, perfect matches. They would never dream of having their animals sold in a pet store or to any random person online. Pet stores are really middlemen. They allow us to turn a blind eye and eschew responsibility. We need to realize this and start owning our part in it.

If you live in North Carolina, then you live in a state with minimal protection for animal wellbeing. If you buy from a pet store that sells puppies, even if you are purchasing crickets for your lizard, you are telling the pet store owner, “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t care about where those puppies come from. I don’t care where they end up either.” I’d much rather we send a clear message to pet store owners that we aren’t okay with this at all. Stores could support rescues or the local animal shelter and host adoption events, for example. Educate shoppers. Don’t do “puppy consignment”…link those people instead to places who can help them. And encourage spay/neuter. And please, stores, PLEASE don’t sell pit bull puppies. I’m so tired of seeing them end up in the animal shelter. I’m so tired of dead pit bulls.

Honestly, if you live in North Carolina, there is another simple step you can take. Go to this link and sign this petition: http://protectourpuppies.com/petition/.

Yeah, it’s something I care deeply about. I care about the people in my community who don’t understand the system in place. I care about the people whose job it is to kill unwanted, beautiful animals because we have just too many unwanted pets. I care about the dogs and cats WE domesticated. I care about those poor college kids who are sucker-punched with animal care they can’t handle. I care about pretty much anything that lives and breathes, and I just want my son to live in a world that gets better every single day.

And if you don’t live in North Carolina, take a minute and find out what the reality is in YOUR state. A lot of animal welfare falls to state and county controls. Puppy mills and pet stores are not just found in North Carolina. They are all across the country. And animal advocates, just remember, we have lots of opportunities to help the Zeke’s in the world, and their families…and to be better animal advocates for it. We can be a HUMANE society.

Love from the Tailroad,

Chandra

Have You Ever Been A Stray?

While Superstorm Sandy ravaged the Northeast, we in the mountains of North Carolina found ourselves locked into sleet, snow, and cold just in time for Halloween. On that first day, when sunshine was consumed by clouds of gray and autumn leaves were lost to wind, my son Eli and I found ourselves looking for warm drinks at the Starbucks inside the Ingles in Waynesville, over a few mountains from our home. As we made ourselves comfortable at the store’s café seating, we noticed a gal striking up a conversation with a couple nearby. Her name was Leah. Leah was taking some time off of college and biking from Pennsylvania to New Orleans, Louisiana. She was all of maybe twenty years old. Bicycling. I looked out the window as rain started to beat the pavement. We conversed about her journey. She was asking me questions along the lines of such trivial topics as, ahem, how stewardship was viewed by local churches. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she was going to bike up and down the mountains in this weather. My straydar kicked in.

It’s easy enough for those of us who are animal advocates to stop our cars on a busy highway to pick up a stray hound or check to see if an animal hit by a car is alive or dead. It’s almost rote, if not expected. Even my son has jumped on the bandwagon. The other day we were driving on some back roads, and we had to turn around because he swore there was a dead dog in a yard. It was just an old Newfoundland resting his bones in the sun, but that’s what we do. We take the time to stop and turn around. Coming back from one of our vacations late at night, I stopped to get gas when I saw a kitty dash into a culvert. Although I couldn’t get the kitty, I did happen to have a big can of food in the car, so we left him a meal. It’s what we do. But what about when the stray is human? Why does that seem to be so much harder?

While sitting there chatting with this girl, I decided to at least explore options. I made phone calls left and right. Friends called friends, but phone calls weren’t answered. My go-to gal who would have totally helped out this sojourner was, herself, going head-to-head with this climactic fallout while hiking in the Smokies. Yes, she could have probably gone to a hotel. I understand that. She wasn’t broke. But so far she hadn’t really needed to do that, and it seemed like such a shame that she would have to do that while in the bosom of my community. I would have given her a ride somewhere myself except the rescuemobile was piled high with laundry and a large animal crate, and the trunk was full of critter supplies. As I threw up my hands and wished her well, she told me she’d probably just make a sign and go stand out front. I felt like a failure as I walked away.

Starting the car, I was swamped by feelings of guilt. I felt like the Universe was testing me, and I was scoring a big fat ZERO. So, I picked up the phone a couple more times. A fellow animal advocate, whose heart is big and kind, told me if we could get her down the mountain to Sylva, we’d work on it from there. Step in the right direction. Light at the end of the tunnel. Silver lining in those gray clouds. My dearest friend, though, is the one who surprised me. She’s one to be wary of strangers, to put it mildly. Put a dog in front of her, and she’s just like me, but humans are another thing. I found myself stepping on those brakes when she said that she’d come pick Leah up in her car! What just happened? I don’t know. You’d have to ask her. But she worked a miracle.

Turning around and parking, I went back inside the store and couldn’t find Leah. I saw her bicycle outside, parked with its meager load and with a purple helmet hanging off the side. But she wasn’t anywhere to be found. I walked around the shopping center for a few minutes and eventually saw her at her bike. Rescue magic happened. I left knowing she was assured a safe ride through horrible weather, and as my cell phone was dying, I had hope that the rest would work itself out. I did have enough battery, though, to make two more important calls.

Driving down the mountain, I had to make a stop at an acquaintance’s home. This woman lives off the beaten track where roads end in forest and creeks are bold! It entered my head as I was driving that I should ask her to take in our traveler. I’d known the woman to be community-minded, and when I called her, I simply asked. And she simply said yes. A call to my dear friend who was on her way to meet Leah, and we were set. The cell phone died, and I drove until the road ended, parked, socialized, and waited. It wasn’t too much longer when Leah arrived. She entered a cacophonous, yet cozy, home. A fire burned in the wood stove. Kids were running around. We four adults, including my friend who stayed for a while, sat around a kitchen table and talked for a while, and then we parted ways. As we left, Leah was helping the family’s little girl build a fairy house by a big tree in the yard.

Leah brought her own little magic to western North Carolina. I will never forget how, upon my telling her that my friend was coming to pick her up, she said she was going into the store to buy flour because she carries sourdough starter with her so she can bake bread for her hosts. Sounds like a very threatening axe murderer, right?! A couple days later on Halloween I gave her a call and found out she was still here. She was trick-or-treating with the family! It warmed my heart to know that her time in my community was spent being cared for, and I know her worried family up north was grateful for the kindness that had been shown to their daughter. I hope that as she continues on her way south that she’ll be able to reflect upon what she experienced and that it will somehow impact how she lives her life. She seems like the pause-reflect-and-grow type of gal to me. The horrible weather we experienced those couple of days after her arrival had only cemented my feeling that we had done the right thing. And while so many people suffered, and continue to suffer, in the Northeast, at least we were able to bring comfort to a stray and be better human beings for it.

So, yet again, I reflect upon how each step, each breath has meaning. We let so much meaning slip away unnoticed in a life, but when we pay attention, the rewards of a purposeful life are endless and enduring.

Love from the Tailroad,

Chandra

Ludo's Legacy Fundraiser October/November 2012

Ludo's Legacy Fundraiser

The Leaves Aren't All That's Golden

It's been far too long since I've blogged. I have aspired to put my thoughts and experiences into words, but all too often the experiences, alone, fill every minute of every day, and then some. I've had to rely upon Facebook posts and photographs to convey to all of you my passionate quest for change. But today - TODAY - I bore witness to rescue MAGIC, and it behooves me to give this magic to the world.

Every moment in a life matters, and each little moment is filled with choices. Not one choice, but fathomless choices which we weave together in living a life full of its own twists and turns. I suppose I've been particularly sensitive to this phenomenon ever since I was a child. In one moment everything in my family's life changed. In a moment my father went from living a life of seemingly perfect health to one where life was fought for by him and by all of us. Those fighting moments strung themselves together into years, and so very many choices we had to make. We experienced the frailty of life, and we experienced fear; we experienced sacrifice, perseverance, and repercussions. We fought with attachment. I do not take my place in this life lightly. The significance of a moment, and my place in that moment are not lost on me.

Today's moment, though, was magical. It was to be a day spent mostly with my son, as we drove an hour into Asheville to drop a couple dogs off to be spaded...oh, wait, I mean spayed. Depends where you live, how you say it, it seems. I planned to take him to the North Carolina Arboretum on this fine autumn day. The sun was certainly shining, and sweaters were set aside. The arboretum had an 'After the Dinosaurs' exhibit running, and he more than earned a break away from the rescue routine which makes up not just my life, but his. I hadn't really charged the cell phone, and I even considered turning it off, but I hate to do that. It seems so final, turning it off, when I feel a sense of moral obligation to be available in case of some emergency. Lately those emergencies have included consultations which have sent three animals to the emergency vet, and I have a grandpa in the hospital, so it stayed on.

In a moment life shifted. I was called upon by a rescue associate to offer what I could for a dog that had been found in Jackson County, the county in which I reside. Yes, here we go again. A dog. There are probably quite a few folk who read that and want to cast this aside. But here's the thing. It isn't just a dog. There are people too. There is the woman who had found the dog and didn't know what to do. There are the staff at my county's animal shelter who are living the reality of what a full county shelter means - euthanasia, if we can't give them room, give them empty runs. There is the rescue associate who could offer a place for the dog after following a protocol that meant it needed a place for 3 days. There is my son trying to do a scavenger hunt among the gardens at the arboretum while I'm sitting on a bench with a cell phone in my ear.

The problem is that there wasn't a place for the dog to go to be held. It wasn't the Good Samaritan's fault. She wanted to help, but the law of the landlord definitely got in the way with this one. I wanted to help, but there was no room at the inn, plus I was hours and hours away from being able to physically help, and we had three - THREE - hours to find a solution, if we wanted to keep the dog out of the shelter. Now, I don't want anyone to think that we wanted to keep the dog out of the shelter because we are hate mongers who think shelter staff are the scum of the earth. Indeed, no. The staff of our county shelters are partners in rescue, and they are human, and under all that I do with the animals, I will never forget how hard their job is and how valuable they have been to so many successes I've been blessed to experience. We simply wanted the best outcome possible!

Witness the magic. I have been blabbing away on the phone in the office of the Great Outdoors when enter the Outsiders. A couple was visiting the arboretum, and they had the NERVE to interrupt my scheming rescue-the-dog-and-rescue-the-people shenanigans. They couldn't help but overhear me. Yeah, them and the rest of the world. And they just happen to volunteer with a rescue in the area. And they just happen to have a thing for Golden Retrievers, and I'm very certain the whole of The Great Outdoors heard me mention, oh, maybe, a hundred times that this found dog was of Golden Retriever descent. They seized a moment, and they created change. They made a choice. They gave me an opportunity, their names, and a cell phone number, and as they wandered away, I was aghast. What just happened?

Magic happened, for as my cell phone began flashing and beeping its battery warnings, and as my son was counting audibly (and irritably) to 120 in order to drive home the message that he was more than ready to move on, I began rapid fire phone calls and text messages and phone number exchanges and prayers that one Good Samaritan might connect with the other, that strangers might truly connect. The phone died, but my hope didn't. Nor did my faith, although it might have been on some shaky ground. I simply had to hold onto it, though, and go about my day. Eli and I whiled away the hours of the afternoon exploring and hunting art installation pieces among the gardens. We picked up our fosterlings from their spay appointments. We drove the hour home.

I don't like to leave things unfinished. I like to follow through and follow up as much as possible. I am far from perfect in that regard, but in this case, I made the time. Well, of course it was a happy outcome! Of course it was! The connection was made. The dog is safe. Landlords are, hopefully, appeased. Golden Retriever lovers are, hopefully, enjoying the gift they took into their home to hold for three days. Are strangers really strangers? Are we really strangers in this world, you and I who may never meet face to face or might just pass each other on a street? On a day like today I believe that no, we are not. We choose to become strangers when we turn our backs on each other. We find lots of excuses - that is, we make lots of choices - to become strangers. But today we allowed ourselves to be friends and to bring a little peace to the world in our way. And our doggy friend? Well, it looks like she definitely deserves a bit of peace too! The poor gal has three microchips which lead to dead ends, including, apparently, one where a rescue or shelter lost her after chipping her and simply doesn't want her back. Suffice it to say, I think she has happy days ahead of her, and I am not going to criticize any of it, because I'd rather like to think that it must be meant to be. Don't you believe so?

I urge myself, my son, and all of us to remember those around us. We rarely know a whole story, let alone a fragment. Fragments are all too often facades which mask realities we may not be able to understand. Compassion, making time for each other, pausing, caring, and asking questions instead of preaching and criticizing and closing doors...today, I know that I am not alone in seeing that these are the qualities we need to build a world which thrives for all. Such qualities ARE the magic of living, in animal rescue and beyond. Definitely beyond.

Love from the Tailroad, Chandra